“Which way? What way? And how?”
“What are you talking about?” cried Marcus.
“You know, and yet you don’t know. Where’s our army? Haven’t we got to find the track they left?”
“Of course.”
“Yes, of course, boy, but where’s the beginning of it?” growled Serge, as he made a comprehensive motion, sweeping round one hand. “There will be no one to ask, for the country will be cleared—all the fighting men gone to the wars, all the women and children and old folk hiding among the mountains. Our army will have made a clean sweep of everything, and we have got to eat. It all sounds very nice, my boy, but to go off at a gallop such as you speak of means riding to nowhere, and the army never found.”
“Oh, Serge, don’t talk like that.”
“Must, boy. We will gallop when we can, but lots of the time we shall pretty well have to crawl.”
“Oh!” groaned Marcus, as he felt the truth of the old soldier’s words.
“There, don’t make a noise like that, but look round here and see what’s going on. It’s a sight, boy, such as you may never see again.”
“I can’t stand and look at sights,” cried the boy, angrily.